Pretty Follies
by alwaysaclaw11
Summary: Hermione has been trapped in a Death Eater jail cell for a year. The Ministry has fallen. The Order of the Phoenix is scattered. Draco is one of Voldemort's most trusted servants. He has a plan to destroy the last of the resisters. But he needs Hermione to do it – and she'd rather die than help him. Dramione.
1. Absolute Alone

_"Love is blind, and lovers cannot see, The pretty follies that they themselves commit"_

_- Merchant of Venice, Act 2, Scene 6_

A year passed slowly spent in prison. Hermione had watched the leaves bud on the trees, the sun shine bright and full, the leaves abandon their branches, the snow fall and once again new life burst on tree outside her one tiny window in her one tiny cell. She hadn't spoken to anyone in almost twelve months. Twelve months in a cell. Twelve months of absolute alone.

She had seen people, Death Eaters, come and go in their silver masks. But she hadn't felt skin against her skin. A touch against her touch in a hundred, two hundred, three hundred days.

"Someone is coming to see you tomorrow," a faceless, lifeless, Death Eater said. "I'm sure you'll appreciate a visitor." A cold laugh. Hermione didn't answer. She wouldn't give them the satisfaction.

They were Death Eaters. They did not think for themselves. Without thought or discretion, they carried out the orders of their despicable master, Lord Voldemort. They had once been people Hermione knew, attended to school with. They were nothing to her anymore. Just empty shells punishing her for something out of her control. The blood in her veins.

Were her friends even looking for her anymore? Did they even care what had happened? Did she have any friends left?

The last time she'd seen Ron she was being dragged away from him. Kicking. Thrashing. Against hands, ice hands, everywhere. All over her. There had been red eyes, a flash of crimson light and then pain. So tangible she could hold it in her hands. Then black, black, nothing but black. Ropes tied her arms and feet. Cloth gagged her mouth. She didn't cry and she didn't beg. Not once as she was taken away.

Hermione pressed her hand to the window glass and let the warmth spread through her palm. So close to the outside world but so separate too. Certainly, whatever visitor was coming to see her wasn't a friend. It was probably just someone who wanted to torture her. But maybe not – maybe they wanted to talk to her. It had been so long since she'd spoken. Did her mouth, lips, throat even remember how? She said a few words aloud. Words she'd missed most.

_Books. Friends. Love._

Her voice didn't sound like hers anymore but at least she still could speak.

Hermione sat up on the burlap sacks – her bed and blankets. She pulled the scratchy fabric over her bare legs and hugged her knees to her chest. She fell asleep just like that.

She woke up to grey eyes, blond hair, pale face.

Hermione swallowed her scream, fighting her instinct to run, to pound her fists against the stone until she shattered or the walls did.

"You're..._Draco Malfoy._"

"Granger." He smirked, leaning away from her. Hermione wanted to lunge at him, wrap her thin hands around his neck. Squeeze. Squeeze. Until she felt his neck crack. He killed Dumbledore. The one person who could stand up to Voldemort.

What kind of sick joke was this? Why would he want to see her? Speak to her? He didn't want any of that. She knew it. He wanted to break her.

The Dark Mark on his arm was visible in the dim light. He wore grey slacks, white shirt, grey vest. No cloak. Rolled up sleeves. It was hot in there. Painfully hot. Everything about Malfoy was cruel. Demanding. _Magnetic._ Predatory.

He released a frozen laugh. Hermione's fingers curled into hard fists. Malfoy crouched down, his gaze a venom that stripped away her clothes, her skin, her muscles, leaving her a pile of naked bones. He lifted the burlap sack covering her legs, examined the fabric and handed it back to her. Fingers brushed her ankle.

Zero days. It had been zero days since someone touched her.

She trembled, anger mixed with fear, hate pounding her heart. Hermione didn't mean to but when he leaned in again, she cringed.

Malfoy's thin fingers tugged on a lock of her wild, bushy hair. "I'm not here to hurt you."

_Yes you are._

She stared down at her dirty bare feet.

"I just want to talk," he said.

Hermione bit her tongue. She would not talk to him. Or look at him. Or believe he was even real.

Malfoy let out a groan then sat down on the concrete floor, reclining against the wall. "Don't talk if you don't want to. I'll wait."

_You'll wait until your flesh rots and bones turn to dust. Because I'll never ever talk to you._

Hermione stayed there the rest of the day and all night. Waiting for Malfoy to leave. To grow tired and resort to his wand, to pain.

He never did. He never moved. He never left.

Hermione awoke the next morning to a spring snow, damp frost on the window. Everything smelled wet, mildewy. She breathed deeply and stood for the first time in almost a day. She looked through the window and even though she didn't touch the glass, she could feel the cold radiate from it. If only she could break the glass. She would reach her hand through the opening, collect the snowflakes on her skin and lick them off her fingers. Her mouth was so dry. So thirsty.

She heard shoes squeak on the concrete. Hermione whirled around, her heart tripping. Malfoy stared at her. Somehow he still looked put-together. Like perfect pieces stacked perfectly. Then there was Hermione. Draped in thin white cotton that fell just half way down her thighs. Untamed hair. Dirt-caked skin. She realized how little she was wearing and instinctively tried to cover herself with her bony arms.

His eyes traced over Hermione like a sharp quill leaving ink on her parchment. His gaze hurt, burned. She wanted to beg him to stop looking at her but she would die before she begged Malfoy for anything.

"When I speak to you, answer me. Our time together will go easier, if you do." A tongue flicked out and licked his lips. Her eyes were handcuffed to his mouth.

He stepped toward her, the hard clack his shoe made on the floor shocked fear through her limbs. She let herself believe for a moment that he was not a threat to her. All talk like he used to be at Hogwarts.

But he would kill her. She did not, could not, doubt it.

"What do you want?" The words toppled out of her mouth before she could shove their pieces back in. Looking anywhere but at him. Thinking of anything but him. Hermione turned her back to Malfoy, sinking to the floor beneath the window.

His hand wrapped around her wrist and pulled her to face him. To stand. The world tilted, the laws of the universe crack, cracking, from the earthquake of his touch.

"I scare you," he whispered. Hermione tugged but could not remove herself from his trap.

_Whatever you're going to do to me. Just do it and let me die._

"No. I'm not." Hermione forced the words.

His touch slipped from her as he laughed below his breath. Hermione stared down at her toes, pretending that he was not there. That she was alone again.

A hard knock at the door. They both looked towards it as it opened.

"Sir," said one of the Death Eaters. "Would you like to leave the prisoner for a moment? We have food prepared for you."

Malfoy's voice was a bark. "I told you not to interrupt me for any reason."

"Yes sir, I just thought-"

"No, Goyle. You never think. Do not disobey me again. What's in your hand?" He hurried the last words.

The familiar paper box.

"The prisoner's meal, sir. Want me to throw it away?"

_No. My stomach is breaking._

"Give it here – and get out."

Goyle handed Malfoy the box and shut the prison door, leaving them alone together.

Malfoy opened the box, sniffed its contents and recoiled. "You eat this?"

"When they decide to give me something to eat."

"Do you want it?"

_Yes._

"I won't tell you anything."

"You've been out of the picture for a year, Granger. Everything you could tell me I already know." Still so superior. But now he had something to support his arrogant claims. With a flick of his wand, he could break her. Crush her beneath the heel of his shiny shoe. She had seen him kill before.

Afraid of the memories clawing into her brain, she faced the window, staring at the sunlight. "Then why are you here?" she asked.

Fingers danced against the skin of her neck. Played along her pulse. Seared into her flesh. She didn't move. Just tensed until she was stiff enough to snap in half. Like her wand in Bellatrix Lestrange's hands.

"Eat," he commanded, shoving the box of food into her hand. A part of her wanted to throw the food across the room, watch the disgusting contents spray on the wall just to prove she would not follow his orders. But she needed, needed, needed to eat. She grabbed the small cup of water taped to the side and downed it in one gulp. Her fingers fumbled over the paper box, opening the lid, digging into the substance and shoveling the sour mush into her mouth.

Hermione had almost forgotten that Malfoy was watching her, observing her, as she tore into that food like a wild animal. Her cheeks blushed, embarrassed she'd shown weakness in front of Draco Malfoy.

But he didn't look disgusted by her. He studied her with interest, blinking much too slowly.

She licked the last of the food off her fingers and wiped it from the corners of her mouth. Hermione sunk back to the ground, curling into the burlap sacks. Forcing his presence from her thoughts. Reciting the ingredients of Polyjuice Potion.

Malfoy sat down next to her. So close she could smell him. Snowflakes soaked in firewhisky. Hermione breathed in his scent, wishing she didn't want to, wishing she hadn't done it.

_Go. Get out of here. Leave me. I want to fade into nothing. Let me die alone._

But a flame still burned inside her. She thought of it as she looked to the window and dreamed of the world as it had been long ago. Of laughter and Hogwarts and freedom. There had to be a way back. The world needed a way back. Hermione needed a way back.

Malfoy glided smoothly to the door. He flicked his wand, sliding back the stone.

"Leaving?" Hermione snarled.

"Yes," he said, smirking again. "And you're coming with me."

**Thanks for reading. This is going to be a pretty dark/angsty fic. Draco might be a little darker in this but I feel like if he would have killed Dumbledore, it would have led him down a scarier path which is what happens here. Please review and let me know what you think of the first chapter. Thanks again!**


	2. Into Snowy Sunlight

Hermione stood in her cell, staring at Draco. She probably weighed no more than a hundred pounds. White skin hanging on white bones. Like glass he could break with a whisper.

She was afraid of him. He could tell.

Good. She should be. Though he did not come here to hurt her, he could. Easily. There were few lines left he had not crossed.

"You can walk," he said stiffly. "Or the guards can drag you by your hair."

Her face reddened, body stiff. She stepped out of the damp claustrophobic place.

"Why not just kill me here?" she whispered.

"You're more useful alive."

She had sunken haunted house eyes, hardly recognizable as the girl he'd bullied at Hogwarts. "You're not going to kill me?"

"Not yet," he said.

They walked down a dark corridor, moist and murky. It was hard to breathe. Like being buried alive with slick coffin walls and earthy graveyard air.

"Where are we going?" asked Hermione.

"Wouldn't say a word to me in the cell and now she won't shut up."

She pressed her chapped lips together, flakes of skin breaking away. They stopped in front of a guard whose name did not seem important enough to know. "Allow her to shower."

"Excuse me, sir?"

"She's coming with me. I'd rather not endure her nauseating stench."

"Yes, sir." The guard had gorilla hands, black-haired and fumbling. He slid open a metal barred door. Behind it was a white tiled room with one drain in the center and one shower head. The guard grabbed Hermione.

Draco couldn't believe the fabric ripped that quickly. Easily. She was completely naked. Exposed to him. Draco bit down on his tongue as Hermione was thrown into the shower. Her knees hit the tile. Hard. She fell on her face. The water crushed down from the head with a force that pinned Hermione to the floor. Her arms and legs pushed out at odd angles. Eyes and mouth open, being pummeled with knife-like pellets of water.

She screamed.

It had to be cold. It had to hurt.

Something stirred in Draco's stomach like slimy fingers digging inside him. He looked away from her bare, struggling form. He knew how to do what was necessary but he'd never been able to revel in other people's pain the way the Dark Lord wanted him to. But he was clinical about it professional, so why he cringe at the sight of her?

"We could have a little fun with that one." The guard chuckled. "It's gets _lonely _in our line of work, doesn't it, sir?" His thick, murky eyes leered at Hermione.

It just sort of happened. Strange because Draco was always in control. Everything in perfect order. Not a stray thought or action tumbling out of place.

Draco cast a dark stunning spell. The guard lifted off his feet, spun in the air and slammed against the stone with a snap, crumpling to the floor.

Hermione had managed to stand up and crawl away from the spray. Tears streaked down her face and she wrapped her arms around her legs, covering herself. Shaking like there was a hurricane trapped in her bones.

Draco shut the water off with a flick of his wand and glanced down at the torn rags that had been her clothes. His fingers gripped the buttons of his own shirt, pulling them from their fabric hooks. He slipped the shirt off, exposing his bare chest to the damp, cold air. Draco made his way into shower, never looking away from Hermione's huddled form. He draped his shirt over her shoulders.

Draco waited there as her shaking hands worked the buttons. When she was finished, he pulled her to her feet and dragged her from the shower. It was hard not to look at the wet, nearly transparent fabric clinging to Hermione's body.

"Why did you curse him?" Her voice had no heartbeat.

"He... bothered me."

"That's what you do if you someone annoys you, attack them?"

Draco grit his teeth. "Would you like me to wake him? He did seem particularly _interested_ in you."

Hermione tensed beneath his tight grip. She would learn soon enough that it was easier, safer, not to question him. She didn't say another word until they stepped from the darkness of the prison into snowy sunlight.

She gasped, chest heaving, as if she was trying to breathe in all the air in world. "I forgot what that felt like."

"What?"

"Breathing." Her bare feet crunched in the snow but she didn't react to the cold, even though she was wearing almost nothing. Goosebumps had already erupted across Draco's exposed chest but Hermione's arms and legs were smooth as glass.

Draco gripped Hermione tightly, fingers digging into her skin. She winced – and without warning her – he apparated into his bedroom at Malfoy Manor.

Hermione toppled out of his touch and fell on the floor, nearly hitting her head on the side of his dresser. She struggled to her feet still trying to cover herself.

"Where are we?" Her eyes scanned the room.

"Home."

She swallowed so hard he could the muscles on her neck move. "We're in Malfoy Manor?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

He slid open the closet, grabbed one of twenty pressed white button-ups all in a row on wooden hangers. He slipped into one, slowly buttoning. For a split second, he saw Hermione watching him.

Draco had prepared for her to come. For awhile now. It took a great deal of convincing, of time, to get the Dark Lord to agree to his plan. Hermione Granger was the best student at Hogwarts, the smartest witch he'd ever met. To destroy her power would be... a devastating loss for magic, mudblood or not. If only, only, only he could turn her to his side. If he could, then she wouldn't have to die.

The drawer to the white bow dresser squealed as he opened it. There was a pair of white socks, underwear, a bra, black slacks and a white blouse. Perfectly folded. With creases in all the right places. His hands gripped the soft fabric then held them out to Hermione.

"Change," he commanded.

She did not react other than to slowly reach for the clothes. Hermione stood there, cradling them in her arms.

"I said change, Granger."

Her thin face fell. "W-with you here?"

"You think I'm going to leave you alone? You could kill yourself with a coat hanger or hang yourself with the bedsheets."

He held his gaze on her, fear painted her features but only for a moment. She stared straight back at him. _Ever the Gryffindor._

As soon as she unbuttoned the first button, Draco turned his back to her. He'd never intended to watch. Those were the kind of lines he still wouldn't cross. But he needed to test her, break her down. So he could make her into what she was intended to be.

"I'm dressed," she whispered.

He spun on his heel. She looked more like the girl he'd known at school. Draco suppressed a smile. Nostalgia was dangerous. Corruptive. He couldn't let it in.

"You may take a proper shower after dinner."

"Come on," he said, walking to the door.

"Where are we going?"

"I thought you might want some actual food."

Hermione pressed her lips together. "Can't you bring it here?"

Draco sneered. "Do I look like a house elf?"

Something like a laugh broke through her sealed lips but she quickly muffled the sound. "Are y-your parents here?"

The blood rushed out of Draco's face. He wouldn't talk to Hermione about his parents. "No" was his short, clip answer.

"Who else is here? Are we alone?"

"The Death Eaters under my charge. We're about to eat. You're expected to join."

Her back stiffened. "I won't eat with Death Eaters."

"You will eat with us or you won't eat at all." She was emaciated. How could she still turn down food? Still be so stubborn.

"I know what it is to starve," she spat.

"Fine. Then starve. I'll eat my dinner in here and watch you die of hunger."

Nothing. No reaction.

Draco grabbed the bedroom door and flung it open. Crabbe was standing in the hall. An idea flickered across Draco's mind. If he couldn't get her downstairs with threats maybe he could entice her with the prospect of seeing an old friend.

Though when she did, she'd be in for a hell of a surprise.

"Crabbe," shouted Draco. "We won't be joining you for dinner. Tell Longbottom to issue tomorrow's orders."

"Wait," Hermione's voice cracked as she skidded up beside him. "I'm coming to dinner."

**Thanks for reading. Longbottom, a Death Eater? You'll find out next chapter. I will probably update a third chapter in the next couple days then slow down to once a week. Thanks for the reviews and favs and follows so far. **


	3. A Twisted Beauty

It felt like she'd swallowed a hundred lit matches. This morning she was on the cold floor of a cell she believed to be her tomb and now she was in Malfoy Manor, wearing real clothes and socks for the first time in a year. But none of that surprised her as much as what Draco Malfoy had just said.

_Longbottom._

What happened in her year of isolation? Had the world spun off its axis? Or had Neville just simply seen what Hermione refused to see? That the world had gone dark and anyone hanging on to the light was a fool.

"Come now, Granger, or don't come at all," Draco's cold voice rattled through the halls like shattering icicles.

Hate built around her, bricks and mortar separating her heart from anyone or anything that could touch it. Hermione had been alone so long she didn't need the defenses but now that people lived in her world again she had to be protected. She couldn't start seeing Death Eaters like they were human. Even if one of them _was_ Neville Longbottom. But she had to know? Had to see what had changed him.

Stuffing her hands in her pockets, Hermione followed Draco down the dark hallway, his hair a wisp of white ash, floating down from somewhere. Somewhere burnt. Charred. Devastated.

Draco Malfoy destroyed everything he touched.

_He touched me._

Hermione followed Draco through the halls like dead fingers, down a flight of bony stairs and into the dining room. Black ceilings, black floor, black table, as if this one room absorbed all the light and color in the rest of the world.

The Death Eaters themselves were worse. Much worse. Like they'd stepped straight from a childhood nightmare. From Captain Hook's ship. Men with long greasy hair, earlobes pierced with bones, maybe goblin, maybe human. Women with rotten teeth, scarred hands. Cloaks of dragon skin or house elf skin... sick. Sick. Hermione wanted to run, to flee from the room, but Draco had his hand gripped firmly around her upper arm – and a wand.

Her gaze flicked to Draco. His perfectly-combed silk-fine hair, smooth skin, impeccable dress. How could a man like that be in a charge of this mess of people? Because he was a liar. A fake. Like the devil, he cloaked himself in fine things, in a twisted beauty, so he could draw you in just to break your spine.

Draco was worse than all of them.

Then she remembered why she was there. Neville. She had to find him. See his face. A friendly one, maybe. Her eyes played along the Death Eaters sitting at the table. She recognized Crabbe. Thick, with a bowl cut and black eyes. There was Pansy Parkison next to him, her formerly long hair cropped to her chin, making her face even rounder.

Draco sat down at the head of the table and guided Hermione to sit at the empty seat to his right. Her legs shook as she sat down in the first chair she'd been in for over a year. Across from her sat a scowling man with eyes trained harshly on her face. Grey, scrawling tattoos wrapped around his hands, disappearing under his black sleeve, reappearing like dead vines climbing up his neck and onto his face. A thick scar cut down over his eye, pink and raised. A gold hook bit into his lip. It took staring, staring, staring into his eyes to see who it was. That was him. Muscled, grizzled, dark. Like he'd been to hell and back. He probably had been.

Neville Longbottom.

Hermione couldn't tell if the burning in the pit of her stomach was anger, sadness or hunger. But it was a raging fire. What could happen that would turn kind, shy Neville Longbottom into this _thing _in front of her?

The food appeared before them. Roast chicken and boiled potatoes, green beans and buttery rolls. Her stomach did somersaults. It had been more than a year, probably two, since food this rich and savory had touched her lips. Maybe it was wrong, weak even, to the eat food. But she needed it. Needed, craved, her strength.

"Do we have any word on Potter's whereabouts?" asked Malfoy, betraying no emotion. The sound of her best friend's name on his lips, returned her focus to the dinner guests rather than just the dinner.

No one answered him.

Malfoy cut the atmosphere with the sharp blade of his voice. "Have you all gone deaf?"

There was a pause then Pansy answered. "No, sir. But do you... how can you expect us to speak freely in front of _that_?" Murky, vomit-colored eyes glared at Hermione.

"Yes. She has nowhere to go. No one to tell. No friends. She has nothing. Granger is here under the Dark Lord's order. If you have a problem with that, I can arrange a meeting for you to express that concern with him."

The blood fled Pansy's face, leaving her pale as skim milk. _No friends. _Hermione couldn't believe that. Didn't want to, but when she saw the deformed version of Neville sitting across from her, it was hard to believe the world was anything but a bloody broken mess.

Neville cleared his throat and began. "We have reports of Potter leaving France, heading east with-" Hermione swore she saw Neville's eyes soften and flicker to her. "Ron Weasley. Our intelligence says he's heading to Russia."

"Zabini, Crabbe. Leave in the morning..." Malfoy kept talking but it sounded like noise. At least she knew Ron was alive. Harry was alive. They weren't in custody or dead. At least not yet, though Hermione didn't like the idea that the Death Eaters knew where they were headed. But they could be wrong or... Neville could be misleading them.

Hermione wasn't sure she wanted to go down that road. Hope was a dangerous thing. A scary thing in this dark, dark world. Could there be good left in Neville after all? It seemed he wanted her to know about Ron...But still he was a Death Eater. He was helping Voldemort and could not be trusted. There was a chance though – no matter how small – that Neville was a – she could hardly let herself think the word – _spy._

She had to know if there was any chance she wasn't alone here. That Neville had a plan, that there was still good left in the world. Hermione wasn't sure how she'd do it. It had been so long in that cell in the dark, so long without thinking, without a plan. But she had to find a way to talk to Neville alone. As soon as possible.

The first chance she got – the first time she was alone, she'd find a way to contact Neville. It might take time but she would have patience.

After dinner, Malfoy followed her back to the bedroom. His bedroom. The thought of sleeping in _his _room made her dizzy. It made her almost miss the cell. At least there she was alone. Protected by the fact that everyone had forgotten her – that it could not get any worse.

"You may take that shower now," Malfoy said as he opened the door to the bedroom. There was an adjoining door and as she peered through the crack she could see a brass claw foot tub and bottles of shampoo and soap lining a shelf. "I'll be waiting out here."

Hermione nodded, stepping toward the door, wanting even brief separation from the fist that clenched in her chest whenever Malfoy was near. His frosty hand closed around her wrist. He leaned in and his surprisingly hot breath burned her earlobe. Everything with Malfoy was flames or snow. There was no in between. "Don't even think about trying anything."

She tugged away from him. "Can I take a shower or not?" Hermione refused to look at him.

Malfoy paused. "Do you need help with anything?"

"I think I can manage to take a shower by myself."

His slender arm gestured effortlessly at the cracked door. She slipped inside and started to shut the door.

"Leave it slightly open, Granger."

Anger bubbling inside her, she slammed the door as hard as she could. Malfoy didn't say a word he just pushed the door back open, leaving a tiny hairline sliver separating the door from the wall.

Hermione slipped out of her clothes, turning on the water. She blinked away thoughts of early that day when icy bullets rained down her back, cutting into her skin. She tested the water until it was warm – almost too warm – and stepped under the spray. It felt so good on her skin, calming. Clouds of steam rose around her and she wished she could disappear into the moisture. Turn into little fragments of rain and melt into the universe. The shampoo was raspberry scented and the soap an earthy sage. The heat relieved her scarred and aching body. She slid to the basin, huddled with her knees to her chest. The world seemed too big now, overwhelming. She had grown so accustomed to four tiny walls, a tight, ever-closing floor and ceiling. There was strange comfort in the brass walls surrounding her. She ran pruned fingers over the smooth metal and tilted her head back, eyes closed. Soft water trickled over her face. Hermione wanted to crack her lips, let the water seep into her mouth and fill her up. Drown in the scent of raspberry and sage. Stop fighting. Stop hurting. Stop sto p. That was all she wanted.

But she couldn't. Harry and Ron were out there somewhere. There could still be good left in Neville. If they all kept going, where did she get the right to give up? Hermione turned off the water and stood. Her wet feet slipped on the tile as she made her way to the white towel. She dried herself and noticed that wedged in the door was a pair of pink pajama pants and a white t-shirt. She carefully slipped on the clothes.

Squeezing her hair dry with the towel, since she had no wand to perform a drying spell, Hermione stepped out of the bathroom and into the bedroom.

Malfoy leaned on the fireplace, small embers flickering. He held a lit cigarette between his lips, the smoke rising off and burning her nose. His white shirt was unbuttoned, revealing his pale chest. There were thin scars across his cut abdomen. Her gaze lingered on his lithe frame. Why was she staring? What was wrong with her?

He blew a puff of air from his mouth. "Want one?" Malfoy displayed his silver box of cigarettes.

"I don't smoke," she said curtly, forcing herself not to look at him.

"No better time to start." He slithered toward her, easily, smoothly, as if his feet didn't touch the ground. She felt so uneasy around him, like every emotion, every feeling, was heightened to the point of being almost unbearable.

"I said no, Malfoy."

There was a nook under the window where the moonlight shone into the room, washing over everything with its faint glow. A pillow and throw were tucked in by the glass. In her bare feet, Hermione slid over to the window and nestled against the clear barrier that kept her from falling, breaking, on the cobblestone walkway below.

"Sleep in the bed." Usually when Malfoy spoke, it was always with the air of a command, but there was an ease, a softness in his words that made her even more uncomfortable.

"I'm fine here," she sighed.

"Suit yourself." Malfoy's voice was slightly harsher. She tried to pretend not to watch him but she couldn't help it as he moved about the room, his open shirt and the thin, blond trail of hair that disappeared until the waistband of his pants. When his gaze moved to her, she realized he had noticed her watching him as their eyes met. She expected him to make fun of her, or smirk, or laugh. He didn't though. He didn't do anything.

"Do you miss reading?" he asked so quietly she almost couldn't hear him. At first she thought not to answer but the words just fell from her mouth.

"I do."

Malfoy's fingers skimmed along the wall, tracing the elegant design of the wallpaper. As he did, a short bookcase appeared beneath his hand. He slid a worn, leather-bound book from the shelf.

"This is my favorite. 'Let light not see my dark and deep desires.'" His lips played softly along the poetry as if God crafted them specifically to say those words. "Do you know?"

"Macbeth, William Shakespeare," Hermione replied, refusing to look at him, afraid that if she did, her seams would tear and she'd spill right out onto the floor. "I'm surprised you read muggle literature."

He moved closer to her, the dim light illuminating the sharp angle of his jaw. "Shakespeare was a wizard."

Hermione's brow knitted together. That sudden urge to correct flooded her, making her feel more like herself than she had in a while. "No he wasn't."

A smile whispered across Malfoy's face. "No. He wasn't."

She bit down on her cheek as Malfoy sat down beside her on the nook, looking out over the grounds.

"Do you have a favorite book?" he asked, flipping through the pages of _Macbeth_.

Hermione paused, trying to fight back the smile working its way on to her face. "Yes."

"Well, what is it?" His voice was a hoarse whisper.

Her tongue darted out and wet her chapped lips. "Breakfast at Tiffany's."

Draco shook his head. "Never heard of it."

"It was written by Truman Capote." Hermione thought about sitting in her bedroom, curled up in a window nook much like this one, reading the words under a blanket into the early hours of the morning. She'd read it every year until the war started.

"Hm," he said thoughtfully, standing, finally allowing Hermione to breath again. "We should sleep. Early day tomorrow."

"Early day doing what?" she asked.

Malfoy kicked off his shoes and shrugged the rest of the way out of his shirt. He folded the dirty shirt and laid it in a basket, then slipped the shoes into one of the perfect rows of identical shoes in the closet. Everything in order, nothing out of place.

_Is that how you live with yourself?_

Hermione curled up against the glass as Malfoy laid on the bed. She watched his lips cast a protective spell over his wand before he slipped it into his front pocket.

"Night, Granger, " he whispered.

She just shut her eyes. Shut him out. Shut the whole world out.

The next morning she woke up to the light and warmth of the sun on her face. For the quickest moment, she'd thought she was back in Gryffindor tower. That all of this had been a bad dream. But then she heard Malfoy's voice and remembered that she was still living in a nightmare.

Once again, he was dressed impeccably. Every crease in the right place on his black pants and cloak, his tie so tight she wasn't sure how he could breathe.

"Time to get up and get dressed, Granger. Your clothes are in the dresser. I'll step outside the door. You have one minute to change." Malfoy didn't want for her to answer, he just turned on his heel and disappeared out the door.

Hermione wished Malfoy would leave her for a just a little while longer so she could try and find a way to get a message to Neville but she needed more time anyway to figure out what she would say and how to do it without getting either one of them in trouble.

She quickly dressed in the tight black pants and green sweater. There was even a soft grey cloak. A kernel of excitement popped inside Hermione. Were they going outside?

Malfoy slid back into the room, the remnants of his last conversation, mumbled as he shut the door.

"Would you like to go outside?"

_Yes. Yes. Merlin, yes._

Hermione shrugged.

"I think the fresh air could do you some good. You've got this crazy-eyed thing happening," he said harshly.

She set her jaw. "I've been locked alone in a cell for a year by the jackass you work for. Excuse me if I'm not up to your Malfoy standards."

Malfoy's glaring stare burned through me but he did not reply. Hermione found it only mildly strange that he did not reprimand her for insulting Voldemort. It wasn't like her opinion about him was any kind of secret.

"Follow me now, Granger."

Hermione trailed behind Malfoy as they weaved their way out of the maze-like Manor. She kept an eye out for Neville and caught only the briefest glimpse of him as they navigated around a tight corner, into the kitchen and into the back garden.

She gasped but didn't mean too. It was the most beautiful place she'd ever seen. There was topiary maze with frosted red roses, towering elm trees painted in snow. There were beds of all sorts of flowers and brightly colored rocks arranged in a sort of spiral. Ornately carved benches nestled within the beds and a silver fountain rained sparkling water.

"I adored this place when I was young." Clouds seemed to melt across Malfoy's eyes. "I'd even sleep out here during the summers."

Hermione smiled, trying to ignore the way the sun seemed to hit Malfoy's face and make it glow.

"It's well... groomed," said Hermione when what she really wanted to say was that it was spectacular, breathtaking, beautiful. Everything she thought was no longer part of the world.

"I have this for you," said Malfoy, reaching into his cloak. It was a black book with an grey design on the leather cover. He handed it to Hermione and she took it slowly.

It felt weirdly hot against her fingers and she had the urge to hold it very carefully as if it was prepared to explode at any moment. "What is it?"

"I figured you missed reading."

Hermione didn't reply just flipped back the cover and scanned over the title.

_The Principles of Dark Magic._

A violent heat rushed to Hermione's cheeks. How could he- what did he think- "What is _this_?" She snarled.

"I thought you of all people could recognize a book."

"I know it's a book, Malfoy. It's a book of Dark Magic. I'm just wondering why you'd give garbage like this to me."

Reacting only by drawing his brow in tighter together, he said almost under his breath. "It's not garbage."

She waved the book in her hand, a sudden wave of energy rushing through her. "What did you think? You could give me some food and a warm place to sleep, show me some pretty flowers and I suddenly want to have anything to do with this? Dark magic is disgusting, a violation of our gifts. I'd rather be dead."

"You don't mean that," he said.

"Yes. I do." She stepped towards him. "Better dead than anything like you." Hermione hurled the book Draco had given her into the fountain. It sank with a splash. She shoved past him, but he grabbed her arm and threw her against the wall. His tall, powerful frame had her pinned against the stone. Hermione held her breath, unable to think with him so close to her.

"If you want to do this the difficult way – fine." He growled in her ear. "But you will do as I say. One way or another."

**Thanks for reading. It looks like Hermione should have been a little more tactful around Draco... he's got some interesting things planned for her. We'll have to see if and when Hermione finally gets to talk with Neville. Also, there will be some more about what Harry and Ron are up to next chapter. Please review and thanks for all the follows and reviews on the first two chapters!**


	4. Nighttime Melody

The hot water steamed on Draco's back, splashing into the basin. He counted the splashes as he moved around the stream. One. Two. Three. Four. Twenty-six.

A knock at the door and he lost count. A jolt of anger wracked through his limbs.

"What is it?" he snapped.

"It's me." Hermione's voice answered. "You've been in there for a long time."

_Was she worried about me? Did it matter?_

The guard he'd sent to watch her was notoriously quiet and still. Draco imagined when he left the bathroom he'd fine Rickers standing like a mountain in the corner of the room, arms crossed, eyes narrowed, just as Draco had left him.

They'd both heard the water turn off, his feet squeak on the tile as he dried himself off, turned around and climbed back in the shower again.

Draco's skin was red, streaked where the fiery water met his flesh. Still, it was never hot enough. Never burned enough to push, push, away the dirt. He was never clean. Not ever – not clean enough.

He counted the splashes again. He needed a count all the way through, without any interruptions, or the rest of his day would feel broken.

Or he would feel broken.

_Adequate,_ he thought, stepping out of the shower for the last time, wrapping the towel around his waist and entering the bedroom.

His eyes caught Hermione's and she stood up abruptly as if she'd been caught doing something wrong. He grabbed a set of clothes out of his drawer, more casual than usual. Dark wool trousers, a black v-neck sweater. He slipped back into the bathroom and changed into his clothes.

When he returned to the room, Draco said "Thank you, Rickers" and gestured to the door.

"Yes, sir," he replied, standing, so tall he almost hit the ceiling. He lumbered out of the room. Draco often wondered if Rickers was half-giant.

In the sweater and pants Draco had given her, Hermione sat in the nook by the window, the sunlight forming a warm halo around her head. Her cheeks had more color in them than when he'd seen her at the prison though she looked much too skinny. Bones carving out jagged lines on her face, her arms knobbly and frail.

"You took three showers," she breathed.

His eyes lifted and he held her in his gaze, his eyes playing along every well defined twist and turn of her body. She was like a deconstructed puzzle. Scattered pieces begging to be reassembled. He tried to ignore the feeling that crept inside him, burning his insides, like scorpions. What if he were the one to run his fingers over the crooked pieces of her puzzle? What if he were the one to put her back together?

"Can you stop staring at me?" she muttered.

Draco pressed his lips together in a thin line. He had no plans on showing her any weakness. Not that there was much weakness left in him. The Dark Lord had made sure to destroy anything in Draco's life that could steal his strength. Even if it hurt, it was for his own good.

"It's time for your first lesson, Hermione."

She licked her dry, cracked lips. "What lesson? What could you possibly teach me?"

He moved across the room faster than he should be able too. It was a trick the Dark Lord had taught him. He said it was important to seem more than human, that there was power in being unexplained. Moving unnaturally fast, standing unnaturally still. Those were all parts of his arsenal. His way of controlling. And he had learned from the best.

Draco had Hermione's chin between his fingers. "It would be wise if you learned not to insult me."

"Why?" she spat.

"Rickers, fetch Longbottom," Draco said loud enough so that Rickers could hear outside the door.

The door clicked open and Rickers stuck his large head through the crack. "Yes, sir."

He listened to the clomp of Rickers's boot on the hardwood floor. One. Two. Three. He counted. The sound and the rhythm a possessive melody in his head.

"What do you want with Neville?" asked Hermione softly.

"You need to see what I can do. What I'm capable of."

Her lip raised in a snarl, her whole countenance unhinged. He was all straight lines and tight collars. She was a ripping seam, a wild, whipped up wind. "I know what you're capable of."

"No, Granger." His hand squeezed her wrist. "You have no idea. Not yet." Her eyes held strong against his gaze. It would take time to make her see. It took time to make Longbottom see. But there were no choices left. Virtue had no place in the Dark Lord's world. There was survival. There was obedience. They could not be separated. And it was something wasn't it. Too teach as many people as he could? To keep them..._safe_.

"You called, sir?" said Longbottom as he stepped into the room. It was easy to see the transformation. It was blinding. Here was a boy who once cowered in fear, a target for bullies. Now he was all muscle and deep scars across inked skin. His jaw was hard set, eyes unnervingly focused. Draco had taught him many of skills the Dark Lord had passed to him. Quiet confidence. Never using two words where one will do. Knowing your place.

"Yes. Thank you, Longbottom. I need you to do me a favor."

"Yes, sir."

Draco's eyes flashed to Hermione. He needed to make sure she was watching. This was the only way. She had to learn and learn fast. She had to become valuable or face execution. "Remove your wand," he said to Longbottom who promptly followed the order. "Give it to Hermione."

Something flickered in his face, but Draco chose to ignore it. He had other concerns.

"What?" Hermione nearly spat. Draco already had his wand out. Trained on her. "Don't even think about trying to hurt me. Even if you succeed you'll never get out and my order is the only thing keeping you alive - the only thing keeping you from all of them."

Slowly Hermione took Neville's wand, her thin hand shaking."What do you want me to do?" Her voice was like a ghost's, empty and see-through.

Draco didn't answer. He just pulled his wand from his pocket and looked at Longbottom. Longbottom straightened his back, arms clasped behind him. At attention. Draco's insides felt heavy, cold, pressing down. A feeling he'd gotten used to. A disease that lived inside and consumed him. It was not something he could escape; just a side effect of the new order. "Crucio," he said simply.

Red light shot from his wand, crushing into Longbottom's chest. He dropped. Hard. Against the floor. His muscled body writhing, convulsing, twitching. Twisted in total agony. Draco had been on that side of the cruciatus curse more times than he could count. It was part of being a Death Eater, part of the process. If anything, it was a mercy to Longbottom to be at end of his curse rather than at the Dark Lord's like he had been. He was fourteen the first time it happened. The pain seemed to go on for days and days even though it must have been no more than ten or fifteen minutes.

"Stop! Stop!" shouted Hermione. It was clear she had been yelling before he heard her. Her face was red and wet with tears. "Stupefy" she shouted. The spell smashed against his side, throwing him off his feet. Pain shocked through his body as his head snapped against the wall.

"Neville are you okay?" Her voice cracked.

He shoved her touch away. "Don't touch me mudblood. Are you stupid?" Longbottom was holding himself up on his elbows, his dark eyes glaring at her.

"What have you done to him?" Hermione scooted back on the floor, her heads in her hands. "_What have you done?_"

_Saved him._

"I've made him strong," Draco replied, crawling to his feet. "Longbottom understands pain. He no longer has to fear it. He knows he can face it."

Her eyes lifted to him, regarding him with utter disgust. Something cold flicked in his stomach. He didn't like the way she looked at him. He wanted to see something in her eyes other than that deep hate, but he didn't know why. He shouldn't care. _But he did_, he admitted bitterly to himself. Of course, he did. Otherwise she wouldn't be here at all. He would have let her die. "Are you going to do the same thing to me? Why did you give me this wand?"

"I have no intention of subjecting you to the cruciatus curse, Granger. I think you've already come to accept pain, your own at least. You've been through quite a lot."

"Gee, have I really?" she muttered.

"There's no need for sarcasm." Draco pointed his wand at Longbottom again. He did not enjoy this. It left him feeling sick and shaky. But it was necessary. "Crucio." He held the spell against him. Longbottom thrashed, his eyes wide open, a horrid yelp expelling from his lungs. But tears didn't leak from his eyes as they had when they first started this training. He remembered that afterwards Longbottom would sit in a chair, silent tears leaking down his cheeks. When Draco had cried after his torture training with the Dark Lord, his father would usually bring his hand down swiftly across his face. He wondered why that hurt after the cruciatus curse, but it did. In some ways it hurt more. Draco didn't mind when his people cried. In a way, he believed it helped release the tension, establish control. Apparently it worked because Longbottom didn't cry anymore. And afterwards he could just go on about his day. Not that this happened much anymore... not for months... not until he needed to show Hermione.

"Please Malfoy!" She slammed her palm over her mouth, eyes wide. He imagined she'd never expected to beg him for something. He was surprised that she was still so concerned with Longbottom's well being after he'd called her a mudblood. But he'd done research on Hermione Granger. Her history with things like SPEW, her work with the Order. She was always acting the hero.

He stopped the curse. Longbottom lay on the ground, his hands gripping his arms, but no emotion could be read in his face.

"Do you want me stop, Granger?"

"Of course I want you to stop, you sick psychopath."

He let out a sigh. Draco wasn't a psychopath... at least he didn't think he was... he just liked things, needed things in order. Needed the world numbered. Exact. Sliced into categories. Clean. That didn't make him crazy.

"There is only one way I will stop," said Draco.

"You can hurt me instead."

He turned to take in her wide eyes, brimming with tears. This was the weakness he had to take away from her. It would get her killed. It was for her own good.

_This is for your own good, Draco._

"That's not what I want." He found himself reaching out to touch her cheek. She shuddered away from him. His hand dropped back down to his side. "I gave you a wand for a reason. You need to learn to get past your feelings. Use them instead of letting them use you. _Curse him_."

"No! Never! I'd rather die."

Draco had no intention of doing it, but he'd learned the right way to look. Blank eyes, smooth face, unmoved body. A part of you had to believe you could do it. If it were necessary. "Would you rather he die?" His wand pointed at Longbottom again, whose face twitched with the slightest flash of fear.

She stood there, trembling. "You sick, you awful... how could - you're..."

"Control it," he said, forcing his voice to remain steady. "Control the pain he feels. Only when you can do that will I stop."

Her eyes narrowed but she didn't react.

"If that's what you choose." Draco lifted his wand again. "Crucio."

Once again, Longbottom let out a horrific yell.

"Stop." Tears leaked from her eyes, poured down her cheeks and splashed on the floor. One. Two. Three. Four. One. Two. Three. Four. Like a nighttime melody. "I'll do it."

Hermione lifted her wand.

**A/N: Thanks for reading. We get to see a little more of what's going on inside Draco's head, his growing fascination with Hermione and a bit of his intentions. Hope you liked this! Please review.**


	5. Marks

Breath trapped in her chest, Hermione pointed her wand at Neville, his body crumpled on the floor of Draco's otherwise spotless bedroom.

Malfoy's grey eyes flashed to her, but he held his wand on Neville.

Hermione had to find a way out of this. It didn't matter how much Neville changed. She would torture no one, except maybe Malfoy or Voldemort if she ever got the chance.

Her heart pounded frantically. If this went wrong, it meanat death – or worse. But it was what she had to do.

With a speed she didn't know she possessed, Hermione flicked her wand at Draco. "_Stupefy_!" she shouted. A red light erupted from the tip of her wand and collided with Draco's chest. He jolted backwards and smacked his head against the wall.

Her wand aimed directly down at him. She flashed back to her third year when she'd held that wand to his throat. How he'd trembled, how she'd frightened him. So different now. His eyes staring at her, steady and steeled, like two polished coins.

Hermione opened her mouth to shout another curse when she heard.

"_Expelliarmus_!"

Hermione's wand shot from her hand and clattered against the window.

She gasped. Her head twisted to Neville. He was still hunched on the ground, his wand now pointing at her. Malfoy was on his feet again, dusting his pants with a thin, pale hand. He had a death grip on his wand, eyes narrowed at Hermione with a cool, calmness that scared her more than outright anger would have.

"How can you possibly be _this _stubborn?" he spat through gritted teeth.

She straightened her back, pulled her shoulders up. "Determination to do what is right regardless of the consequences is not goodness not stubbornness."

Malfoy shook his head and sighed. "Can you really know what's right if you don't consider the consequences?"

He glanced at Neville and then at Hermione with something she would have considered pity had it not been Malfoy. He stepped closer to her, his face now clear of any emotion. If she lifted her arm, her hand would be on his chest. She swallowed and forced herself to keep eye contact with him.

Malfoy leaned in, his mouth just inches from her ear. "You don't trust me. You have no reason to – but we're living in a new world Hermione and all I'm trying to do is give you the tools to survive. The old rules no longer apply." He looked at Neville who now stood, arms behind his back at attention. "Longbottom understands that."

Neville nodded curtly to Malfoy who nodded back at him. Without warning, Malfoy jolted forward, knocking into Hermione, his hand gripping her arms.

She inhaled sharply, an unwelcome current of electricity pulsing through her body as his skin met her skin. Hermione jumped away from him.

"What is it, sir?" asked Neville, stepping closer.

Malfoy gripped his forearm, gritting his teeth. "I have to leave, Longbottom. I'm being summoned." Malfoy's voice sounded heavy. "Keep an eye on Granger. I will return as soon as permitted. Neither one of you will leave this room until I come back. I'll arrange for your meals to be sent up."

"Yes, sir," said Neville.

"Thank you, Longbottom."

Hermione drew back, surprise on her face. Gratitude from Malfoy. She never expected it, especially after what he just did to Neville. How could Malfoy manage to look at Neville. or anyone else, or even himself? How could he live with what he'd done?

Draco adjusted his clothes, smoothed his hair in the mirror and then exited the room, leaving her with nothing but a fleeting and worryingly warm glance before shutting the door.

Holding her breath, Hermione turned to Neville who looked as harsh and empty and unrelenting as ever. Outside the door, she heard the familiar whoosh and snap of Death Eater disapparation.

Neville's arms were around her. Her eyes widened, her whole body tensed with shock. His strong arms pulled her body into his, one hand tangled in her locks, the other on the small of her back. His cheek pressed against her.

"Merlin, Hermione. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." His words muffled against her skin.

When the shock dwindled, Hermione lifted her arms around her old friend, holding him tightly. Relief washed over her like a cool bath. The world turned beautiful, right side up again.

"I should have stopped him hurting you. Neville, I wish I could have. I should've-"

"No." Neville pulled away slightly. "You should have cursed me."

Her hand fell on his cheek, the scruff scratching her palm. "I couldn't. I'd never."

Neville turned away, his hand running through his dark brown hair. "It would have saved me some pain."

Guilt rose inside Hermione, but it quickly gave way to anger. How could Draco put her in a position like that? Oh yeah, he was a prat.

"I'm sorry." She sighed.

Neville sat down by the window. "Don't worry. I'm used to it."

Hermione joined him in the window alcove, leaning on his shoulder. "I thought you'd changed."

His eyes reflected in the glass, gleaming dark and distant. "I have. Just not like that."

Neville may have changed, but she could still see the old him in there, feel him too. She laid her hand on top of his and gently squeezed.

"You're not a Death Eater?" She scooted closer to him, glancing up.

"Oh I am." Neville pushed back his shirt sleeve, revealing the same black tattooed snake that was on Draco's arm.

"Why didn't your arm hurt when Draco's did?"

"There's more than one kind of Dark Mark. The Dark Lord's high council – that's Draco, Bellatrix and Snape – all have one, the original one. Then the lower level Death Eaters, like me and the ones who worked in the prison you were at, have another. It also has the mark of our Council master. Look closely."

Hermione ran her fingers down the soft skin of Neville's forearm, over the mark. It took her a moment, but there it was. A tiny, wriggling dragon, hidden with the twists and turns of the snake.

"So Draco ran the prison?"

Neville shook his head, pulling his sleeve back down over the mark. "No. That is Bellatrix's domain."

Hermione shuddered as horrifying memories of starvation and torture brimmed in her thoughts. "Seems like Bellatrix."

"Yes." He let out a breath. "It does...they're sort of together, you know?"

Hermione crossed her legs, sitting up straighter. "Who?"

Neville looked down at his wand as he moved it through his fingers. "Bellatrix and the Dark Lord."

"What? No they're not-"

He chuckled, a deeper laugh than she remembered him having. "Obviously, he doesn't take it too seriously, but she did leave her husband. I caught them kissing once."

"No! Eww-" Hermione covered her face with hands. "Thanks for that image, Neville."

"Think about how I feel." He smiled and Hermione smiled back.

"Why'd you do it, anyway? Become a Death Eater? Did Draco make you?"

"You can't make someone be a Death Eater. They have to want it."

She looked away from Neville. How could he have wanted this?

"I don't understand, Neville. Your friends, your parents."

He grabbed her chin and gently tugged it so they faced each other again. "It's for the Order."

The world stopped, everything just stopped, breathing, moving, living all of it. The Order of Phoenix had dissolved. It was gone, gone, gone. That's what Draco had said – that's what everyone had said, had believed.

"But I thought it had dissolved."

Neville leaned in and whispered. "That's just what we want them to believe." Something glimmered in his eyes, hope maybe. He pulled back his other sleeve, revealing pale, untarnished skin.

He muttered a few incoherent words then waved his wand over his arm. A red mark flickered into view. An inked phoenix flew over his skin.

Warmth filled up Hermione, the universe a thousand times brighter, shimmering, brimming with the one thing Hermione had missed most: purpose.

Gently, Neville took Hermione's arm, running his fingers over her skin. She held her breath.

"What do you say Hermione?" Neville pressed the tip of his wand to the inside of her right forearm. "Want to officially join the Order? Will you help us take down the Dark Lord and his forces from the inside?"

She swallowed, a swell of pride pressing on her chest. "Yes. I will."

There was a sharp burn, then cool, icy calm. Several small red dots sprinkled her skin, then a baby bird emerged from the inked ashes. In just a few seconds it grew to it's full size, it's wide wings sweeping across her arm.

"Welcome, Hermione Granger, to the new Order of the Phoenix."

Thanks for reading. Sorry this is a bit short. I wanted to keep the Neville and Hermione stuff in it's own chapter. We'll get Draco's High Council meeting in the next chapter and some more interaction between Draco and Hermione. Also, I apologize for the lack of them together in this chapter. Hope you liked it anyway. If you get a chance, please leave a review. I love to know your thoughts.


	6. A Thousand Angry Hands

Draco had spent a whole day waiting in Riddle's Manor. He avoided the company of his aunt Bellatrix and Snape seemed to be hiding out from something too. Finally, they all gathered in the gloomy, cobwebbed dining room

"Good to see you, Draco," said Snape, looking grim, hands in the pockets of his robes.

"You too, Severus." Draco nodded. He groaned, tapping his foot – one -two – one – two. "The Dark Lord called us here and yet where is he? It's been a day."

His aunt swept into the room, her black robes swooshing behind her. "It is not your place to wonder, is it nephew?"

"Bellatrix." Draco gritted his teeth.

"Don't be so cold to your aunt." Her grimy hand patted his cheek and he cringed.

An eerie coldness settled over the room as Voldemort entered. "My apologies if I kept you all waiting. I'm sure you all have much more important things to do than serve your master as he pleases." His eyes honed in on Draco, whose stomach dropped.

"Apologies, my lord." Draco averted his eyes.

"You of all people should know better than to test me, Draco." The Dark Lord gripped his arm too tight.

"Yes, sir." He chocked out.

"With greatest respect, my lord, why have you called us here?" Thank Merlin for Severus Snape changing the subject.

He regarded each of them with cool complacency. "It's back."

"What is, my lord?" asked Snape.

"The Order of the Phoenix," Voldemort snarled.

Bellatrix slithered up to him, her hands on his robe. "They can't be much of threat to you, my Lord. Not now. Your influence is strong, spreading every day."

"Do not forget the prophecy, my most faithful servant. It is said that I shall kill Potter, or he shall kill me. We must stay on alert until the day he is dead." He extracted her from his robes.

With her head down she said, "Both my nephew and Severus had ample opportunity to kill Harry Potter while he was at Hogwarts. It would have been wise -"

_Oh, no._

"Bellatrix," Voldemort snapped.

She fell to her knees and proceeded to kiss his feet. Draco's lunch burned his throat. "Forgive me, master. Forgive me. I did not mean to suggest you unwise," she sniveled.

"It must be me that kills Potter. That is the prophecy."

"Yes, my Lord," she stuttered, drawing herself up again.

Voldemort clasped his hands behind his back and began to pace. Draco counted his steps, cringing when he stopped on an odd number. "Double the patrols in your district. Strictly enforce the 10:00 curfew and the ban against meetings of three of more people, outside families. Imprison and question those you see fit. If we find Order supporters, we can use them to track down Potter."

"Yes, my Lord," they said in practiced unison.

"That brings us to the next order of business. Bring her in."

Two haggard looking Death Eaters whose names Draco forgot drug in a girl with torn clothes and matted black hair. They shoved her to the floor, and Draco cringed.

"What's your name, my dear?" asked Voldemort in a sickly sweet voice. She did not answer. "What is your NAME?" he shouted.

"Padma Patil." She forced out the words with a snarl. Draco's heart beat a little laster. He remembered her from Hogwarts.

"Where is Harry Potter?"

"I don't know," Padma said.

The Dark Lord flourished his wand. "_Crucio."_

Padma convulsed on the ground, wailing. Draco watched unblinking.

"Where is he? _Crucio._" That time he didn't even give her a chance to answer.

Her dark eyes looked up at him, swimming with hate. "I don't know. I swear I don't know. But even if I did." She spat as she crawled to her feet.

"It's futile. Fighting back. I've already won. I'm your Lord and the sooner you accept that, the easier your life will be."

She was hunched over, breathing heavily. "If the fight was so futile, you wouldn't work so hard to track down Potter, to stop the Order. You wouldn't look so desperate."

Voldemort smacked her across the face with the back of his hand, the sound rang through the mostly empty foyer. "Bellatrix, take her to the cells. Maybe a year or two in starving isolation will change her mind about what is and is not futile."

Padma whimpered, but then bit down on her lip. Aunt Bellatrix grabbed Padma's around the shoulders, holding a wand to her throat.

Draco's heart thrummed, his hands shaking. "My Lord, if I may. Ms. Patil is an excellent witch.I'd like to request her as one of mine. I've had great success with Longbottom, and with-"

"I'd rather die," Padma said coldly.

_Don't be stupid._

"That can be arranged," said Voldemort.

"Yes, Longbottom is an excellent servant. I have no complaints about him. And Potter's mudblood? What of her?"

Draco's mouth went suddenly dry. "You know why I asked for her, my Lord."

"Because you believe she is the most powerful witch alive?"

"Yes, sir."

The Dark Lord turned to Snape. "Severus, you taught the mudblood for six years. Do you agree with Draco's assessment of her talents?"

"Yes, my Lord," Snape replied.

His lip curled in a sneer, Voldemort's attention returned to Draco. "Which is exactly why I agreed to let you take her into your district, to use her, but Ms. Patil, she is no Hermione Granger. She is just your average, weak-hearted, blood traitor witch. Your request is denied, Draco. She is yours, Bellatrix. Try and get something out of her first. Return here afterwards."

Heavy, invisible hands squeezed Draco's lungs, keeping out oxygen. _Control yourself. There are two chairs by the window two people by the door two hands two feet two eyes._

Voldemort's cold voice dragged Draco back to the present. "Severus, Draco, you may leave, but I better see some results from your patrols. I want Potter found and want him found now. And Draco, Granger better prove useful to me, or I'll kill her, slowly, and I'll make you watch."

His stomach did flips that no amount of counting could stop. "My Lord, I don't-" His voice was weak.

"Don't mistake me for a fool. You're not the first to desire filth far beneath you. Ask Severus." His red eyes gleamed at Draco's old professor, then he stalked out of the room followed by Bellatrix, Padma and the other two Death Eaters. When Draco looked at Snape, he noticed the man had bent the back of a metal chair he was gripping.

Draco was not feeling well after that meeting. He needed a shower, possibly eight. And he had to count the doors in the manor again. That was very important.

First he had to check on Hermione. Trying to shake off the last few days, he stepped inside the room where he found Hermione in pink-flowered night clothes that clung to her body sitting by the window, and Neville standing over her. When Draco cleared his voice, Neville jumped.

"You're already back, sir?" said Neville, sounding surprised.

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Is that a problem, Longbottom?"

"No, sir. You're just usually gone longer, sir." He swallowed, then shook his head and looked directly at Draco.

Maybe he should be more concerned, but everything was spin, spinning around him. Pieces of the world glancing by his fingers, pieces he needed to reassemble but could not.

Forcing his mind into the moment, Draco said, "Double the patrols, knock on doors. You know what we're looking for. Take Crabbe and Parkinson."

Neville nodded curtly. "Yes, sir." He disappeared out the door.

"I hope you were comfortable in my absence." Draco's words felt off, stilted, even though he meant them. Voldemort was more right than he wanted him to be. The curves of Hermione's body, the blush in her cheeks, those dark eyes. But mostly that look on her face when she was thinking, when she was about to cast a spell.

"I do enjoy imprisonment. I have to say I'm getting used to this." The sarcasm was obvious in her voice.

He sighed. "This isn't a prison."

"May I leave then?" She crossed her arms and plopped down on the edge of the bed.

"No," he said a bit too harshly.

"Then it _is _a prison."

Something came untethered inside of Draco. That part of him that made him real, tied him to gravity. Anger shoved him forward, wrapping around him like a thousand angry hands. "I'm trying. For the love of Merlin, Hermione I am TRYING!" With a broken shout, he slammed his fist into the mirror on the vanity, pain shocking through his hand.

Silence fell.

"Draco..." Hermione finally whispered, approaching slowly.

He started digging through the array of his mother's old things on the vanity looking for a bottle of healing potions, but the letters were all jumbled, his head twirling. "I'm fine. Just I'm fine."

"No, you're not."

"Where is the bloody healing..."

Hermione reached into the stack of bottle, wrapping her hand around a small brown one. "Sit down."

Draco swallowed, then slowly followed her orders, sitting back straight on the edge of the bed. She grabbed some bandages from the top drawer and knelt down in front of him. A sight he'd never had before. The top of her head, the dainty point of her freckled nose.

His hand throbbed as she plucked a piece of glass out and then wiped the healing potion across his skin. He breathed out for the first time as she tied the bandage tight around his hand. Hermione looked up, biting down on her lower lips.

"Better," she whispered, her eyes locked on Draco's.

"Better," he whispered even lower, unable to draw away from the light touch her hand on his.

A/N: Thanks for reading. Please review and let me know what you think. It means a lot!


	7. Patience

Hermione had to convince Draco that she was on his side, but she wasn't sure how to start. If she were too enthusiastic, then he'd know something was going on. She'd have to act just reluctant enough that Draco would assume he was breaking her.

She hated being in this room. This place where she had what seemed like a lifetime ago been tortured by Bellatrix Lestrange. But she grit her teeth together and refused to let the painful memories show on her face.

The room was a long rectangle with black wood floors, walls and ceiling. The iron chandelier that Dobby had broken had been repaired and hung above her. An elegantly carved table and its matching chairs had been pushed up against the wall. It smelled of freshly brewed coffee, and faintly of something like sweat or maybe blood. Hermione shivered from the chilly air let in by the open window.

"At least I didn't have to drag you out of your room today?" Draco sneered as he stepped into the room, shoes snapping on the hardwood floor. How did he always look so put-together, so totally in control. He wasn't like this at Hogwarts, but then who hadn't changed since then? Even she had. A lot, if she really thought about it.

"Can we get started or are we going to chat all day?"

He just shook his head. "Have you ever done a dark spell?"

"No."

"Well, let's start with an easier one than the cruciatus curse. I'm not sure you could manage it."

She stepped toward him, her eyes narrowed. "Want to find out?"

This bad attitude thing was easier than she thought. She could just do what he wanted, for the most part, and be pissed about it. That should work.

"Maybe later, lovely."

Her stomach flipped. _What did Draco Malfoy just call me? _

"Well what are we doing then if not the cruciatus?" Hermione changed the subject as quickly as she could.

"The Imperius Curse."

Hermione felt better about that. It wasn't a particularly nice thing to do to a person, but it was far superior to torturing or murdering someone. Harry had even used it at Gringotts when they were trying to get into Bellatrix Lestrange's vault.

"Fine," she said and slumped back against the wall.

Draco tossed her wand and she caught it.

"Don't even think about cursing me, Granger. Whatever that wand tries to do to me, will rebound on you."

Hermione shook her head in surprise. "That's impossible."

"Give it a try."

The way he looked back at her, so focused, eyes so silver they were like coins. Fierce and she couldn't help but believe him.

"How?" she asked.

"Magic." He winked and slid toward her with a grace and smoothness that sent a shiver from each toe up her skin to the tips of her fingers. She swallowed and looked away.

"I figured," she said as casually as possible. "But I've never heard of a spell like that before."

Draco put his hands in the pockets of his grey trousers and glanced out the open window. "That's because I created it, Granger."

"You?" she snorted.

His gaze whipped back to her, blazing, terrifying… she'd never thought she'd say that about Draco, but Merlin, fear shocked right between her sternum. He was no longer boy to be trifled with. This was a deeply and thoroughly altered Draco Malfoy.

But could it be a better one?

"I do not care if you're surprised. It makes no difference to me if you think I'm a fool now. But you will learn that I am not." He tucked two fingers under her chin and forced her to look directly at him.

Her mouth went dry.

"Back to our lesson, Granger."

She swallowed, unable to find oxygen, unable to think. Hermione nodded.

"Crabbe, come in here."

The big lump of a man waddled into the room. "Yes, sir."

"Stand there." Draco pointed to the middle of the room. "Begin, Granger."

"You want me to…"

Draco leaned and whispered against her ear, hoarse, gruff. "If you don't, I'll bring Longbottom in here."

Hermione tugged away from Draco, anger surging in her chest. She bit the inside of her cheek and pointed the wand at Crabbe.

"W-what's she doing?" Crabbe stumbled back.

"Did I tell you to move?" Draco barked at Crabbe, his arms folded across his chest.

"No, sir."

"Then shut it," Draco hissed through his teeth.

Hermione drew in a breath, trying re-orient herself and prepare for a kind of spell that she was very much against. People's wills should be there own and it was wrong to try and control them. That said, she had to make it convincing so she and Neville could continue spying for the Order.

"_Imperio_," she whispered. A strange smoke filled Crabbe's nose and his body slumped, but the effects only lasted a few seconds.

"Not terrible, Granger." Draco raised a groomed eyebrow, his rigid body as unreadable as ever. "Again."

She didn't need or want compliments from Draco, but right now wasn't about what she wanted or needed, it was about what she had to do for the sake of the friends she had that were still out there fighting against Voldemort.

Hermione refocused and cast, "_Imperio."_

The smoke filled Crabbe's nose again, but this time she could feel the power of the spell burning in her veins. She made Crabbe stand on one leg, rub his stomach and pat his head, she made him quack like a duck. Run in circles.

"Adequate, Granger. You may stop now."

Crabbe stumbled forward as he regained control of his own body. "Stupid mudblood," he spat. "What'd ya think your doing?" He pointed his wand out and as soon as he did, Draco wordlessly disarmed him.

Crabbe's wand clattered across the floor, echoing in the room.

"Do not speak to her," Draco hissed. "Now pick up your wand and get out of here. Now!"

Quickly, Crabbe did as he was told.

"Hermione Granger… has now done the worst thing she's ever done." Draco laughed coldly. Hermione laughed back.

"You have no idea what I've done."

"You mean how you trapped Rita Skeeter as an animagus in a jar and blackmailed her into helping Potter. Or how you created that curse that would make anyone who betrayed your precious Dumbledore's Army break into boils. Or how about the time you lured Dolores Umbridge into the Forbidden Forest and left her to the centaurs."

Hermione's heart pounded wildly as Draco was now just inches from her. The back of his hand ran across her cheek. She wanted to slap his touch away but she felt frozen.

"Didn't you ever wonder," Draco whispered in Hermione's ear, "what those centaurs did Professor Umbridge?" He stepped back, his body as rigid as steel. "You don't wonder. You knew when you left her there."

"SHUT UP!" she shouted, her voice cracking. Hermione wasn't feigning anger now. "I didn't – I don't… I did what was necessary."

"As did I!" Draco's arms locked behind his back; he looked at Hermione with that rich, regal Malfoy air. "So stop acting like you're so much better than me, Granger. Because we have more in common than you can possibly imagine."

Hands fisted at her sides, she stepped forward. "I am nothing like you, you sick, murderous bastard."

Draco closed the distance between them. His hand falling on the side of her face, the other on her hip. He was strong enough to lock her in place. Fear jolted through her body. What was he going to do to her?

"You're not going to speak to me like that anymore."

"And why not?"

Draco's hands dropped away. "Because you're not going to let Longbottom get hurt."

Anger burned inside Hermione's chest, but she did her best to ignore it. This was a chance to do what Neville had asked and make it seem like he was getting to her.

"Yes," she hissed.

"Yes, what?"

There was something so hard, so cold, so incredibly controlling in his eyes, she could hardly believe this was Draco Malfoy.

"Yes, sir."

His lips twitched into a smirk. "I'll see you tonight. I've got work to do."

With that, Draco strode out of the room, beating a perfect rhythm on the hardwood floor. Not one extra step or one unnecessary move. Hermione couldn't even begin to understand that man.

Hermione was sitting on the bed in the room she shared with Malfoy, her knees brought into her chest. She was running her fingers over the grooves in her jeans, feeling the roughness of the fabric.

The door squeaked open and she tensed, expecting Draco. Her body relaxed when she saw the dark hair and dark eyes of Neville Longbottom.

"I'm sorry about today."

"Don't be." She slid off the bed. "It was just the imperious curse. It could have been much worse." The terrible things Hermione had done flashed through her mind, but she forced the memories away.

"I don't have long. I have to go on patrols tonight." He stared down at his black boots. "Just wanted to check and make sure you were okay."

She reached out and touched his wrist. Hermione was glad to live in a world of human touch again, but every time she felt skin against her skin, it was like the hairs, the cells, every atom of her body was imploding and exploding and starting new universes from her toes to the tip of her head.

"I'm fine, really Neville. I want to help and this is how I can help. I'm not weak."

"That's not what I meant Hermione. That could never be…" Neville took her fingers in his and squeezed. "We'll get out of here. We'll find Harry and … Ron and it'll be okay again."

Hermione swallowed. "We just need patience."

"Yes, patience," he said, looking down at her. Hermione never noticed just how tall Neville had gotten until he was leaning over her, wrapping her in his shadow.

"You should go before Malfoy comes."

Neville nodded once and straightened his back. That wave of military, of Death Eater rigidity washed over him, as he turned on his heel, almost exactly as Draco had and walked out the door.

It wasn't just Draco that had changed. It was Neville too, and it had been Draco that changed him. Even if in just small ways. Hermione could not let that happen to her.

Hermione fell asleep on the bed, the one Draco usually slept on. She heard the door squeak open and then saw Draco's silhouette through her barely open eyes.

His grey eyes shimmered as they turned toward you. "I didn't mean to wake you," his voice was quiet, a near whisper.

Hermione went to stand up and move to the alcove where she normally slept.

"Just stay there. It's fine."

She almost wanted to protest, but her limbs were heavy with exhaustion and she just didn't have it in her to argue with him. Hermione settled back into the pillows.

Draco's fingers started working the buttons of his shirt.

"What are you doing?" her voice squeaked.

"Calm down, Granger. I'm just changing."

"In front of me."

He laughed. "Is my beauty too much for you to bear?"

Hermione couldn't make an answer form on her lips. For a second, a smile peeled onto her face. He seemed like the old Draco in that moment and it shouldn't have brought her comfort but in a strange way it did. Like maybe his true self was buried underneath all of this – that maybe that meant hers was too.

Draco pulled his shirt off and folded it nicely into a laundry basket. Hermione bit down on her tongue as he unbuttoned her pants and pushed them off. Once again he folded them and put them in the basket.

Hermione was transfixed by such perfection and control in every movement. He was standing in front of her in nothing but black boxer-briefs and socks. Draco scratched his neck, stretching the tight muscles along his abdomen that were lit lightly by the moon.

For a moment, he turned and let his eyes linger on Hermione. She felt suddenly exposed and pulled a pillow into her lap, even though he was the one with no clothes on. Why did he have to insist on them staying in the same room together? It was creepy – and controlling – or maybe something else. In that look in his eyes in the dark as she was being pulled towards sleep made her wonder, made her worry that maybe Draco wanted her for more than her magical powers.

What if that's what she had to give him to get the information the Order of Phoenix needed to stop Voldemort?

**A/N: Sorry about the wait on this. I'll try to update quicker. It's going to get "steamier" between Draco and Hermione in the next chapters, but I don't want to take it too quickly. Please review and let me know what you think so far and what you think is going to happen and what you want to happen. Thanks again!**


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